


Snakeroot

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Mostly Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos's special skills are SCIENCE! and "rolling with it."</p><p>Or, your run-of-the-mill date in Night Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakeroot

**Author's Note:**

> I could not resist the lure of Carlos/Cecil and the magic of Night Vale. Or that might just be the vapors talking. Has anyone seen my cat? I left him in a bathroom somewhere.
> 
> (In this headcanon, Cecil does have pain receptors. Or rather, parts of him do. :3)

It's a beautiful night. The moon is a high, bright beacon above the endless desert and the air is cool. It's the perfect weather for a walk. This is fortunate, because Carlos's Hybrid has broken down.

"So your experiment was a success," Cecil says, beaming.

Carlos's gaze flickers over to him for a moment. "I suppose." The experiment in question had been _Get in the Car and Drive_. Cecil doesn't know what purpose such a test serves, but he's glad it's worked out. "Should we call someone?" Carlos asks, pulling his casual lab coat tighter around himself.

Cecil makes a face. "Of course not; this is hardly an emergency. Your car is tired."

"My car is—" Carlos stops. "Right. Of course."

"It just needs to rest," Cecil explains with a nod. "It happens often in the Sand Wastes. Car exhaustion, coolant disintegration, tires rebelling or eaten by slugs. It'll be fine in an hour or so."

One of Carlos's dark eyebrows has risen far above the rim of his glasses. He stares for so long that Cecil starts to wonder if perhaps his eyes have changed color again. Once, their creamy whiteness had melted into vibrant ruby and remained so for a fortnight. It has been a horrible time for everyone. But then Carlos shrugs and says, "Would you like to go for a walk?" 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea!" Cecil is still full from dinner; he and Carlos had shared a quinoa and starfruit pizza that may or may not have been illegal. A walk is just what they need.

The wind picks up. Cecil brushes unruly blond strands from his eyes and shudders in his thin violet sweater-vest. He should have known it would be furry pants weather. Carlos is digging into his trunk, pulling out a worn backpack with more zippers than the Secret Police typically allow.

"What are you doing?" Cecil asks.

Carlos shoves his arms through the straps, pushing his lab coat askew. "A scientist must always be prepared. You never know what you may come across." He yanks his sleeves back down and offers his hand. "Shall we?"

Cecil's fingers look exceptionally pale entwined with Carlos's dark coffee perfection. He follows the pull until he can loop his arm in the other man's. Cecil suppresses a squeal; squeals are reserved for fourth dates only. He does sneak a glance at Carlos's profile—handsome and confident, the gray in his temples illuminated by the pale moonlight.

They are walking for fifteen minutes before Carlos says, "The car. Um, it will still be there when we get back, right?"

"Of course." Cecil squeezes Carlos's arm with one hand, gesturing vaguely with the other. "We might get a ticket for a parking violation, though."

Carlos glances down at him. "A parking violation. In the middle of the Sand Wastes."

"The Sand Wastes are very precise."

"What does that even—"

"They might let you be, though," Cecil adds, "on account of your plates being from out of state. Of course, they'll give you a citation for not changing your plates to Night Vale ones." At Carlos's withering look, Cecil says, "I did remind you. Several times."

They drift into companionable silence, shuffling through the sand as though they've all the time in the world. Cecil enjoys every moment of it. Before long, they stumble upon the Traveling Cienega. It's a small piece of marshy paradise amidst endless desert. Encircled by some tall grass, the oasis contains a pond and several plants.

"What is this place?" Carlos asks.

"The Traveling Cienega," Cecil replies, voice edging into his radio persona out of habit. "It only shows itself to travelers who are on the right path, or whom the Sand Wastes favor. Some who wander off into the Wastes never return. Others return on the following Tuesday, assuming it isn't cancelled. This is a very good sign, my Carlos!" He hugs Carlos's arm. "The Sand Wastes would prefer it if we returned to Night Value alive and breathing."

Carlos stops walking. "Wait—alive _and_ breathing?"

"Yes. You don't want to deal with someone who is alive but not breathing." Cecil wrinkles his nose. "Trust me, it's a market we can do without."

"Cecil, how—wait a minute." Carlos pulls away, marching into the tall grass. Mud and rock crunches beneath his feet. Cecil almost loses sight of him in the darkness. Carlos walks with purpose until he finds what he is looking for. "A-ha!"

"What-ha?" Cecil scrambles into the grass after him, wincing when water leaks into his Franchian leather shoes. "What is it?"

He finds Carlos kneeling in the wet earth, contemplating the undergrowth. "Are you sure this is a cienega?" He pronounces it with a great deal more finesse than Cecil had.

Cecil blinks in confusion. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Carlos looks over his shoulder at him. "Because this does not belong in a cienega. This genus isn't even native to the United States."

The long, wiry plant before them is outright menacing. It stretches tall and proud, covered in thorns like a rose. It's thick, almost engorged, and its leaves look to be razor sharp. At its tip is a bulbous sack, from which blooms a vibrant pink flower. The petals are slashed through with black and yellow.

Cecil stifles a chuckle. "Of course it is, Carlos. This is snakeroot. Granted, snakeroot doesn't typically grow around here. It mostly sticks to slithering underneath your walls."

Carlos shakes his head, rifling through his bag. "Cecil. That is not snakeroot."

Normally, Carlos is very considerate of the fact that Cecil does not have a head for science— _normally_. Stung, Cecil turns his nose up. "And how would you know?"

"I'm a scientist," Carlos says simply.

"You're not a _botanist,_ " Cecil retorts defensively.

"I am many things," Carlos says. "A scientist must be ready to tackle any discovery." Belatedly, he catches the undertone of hurt in Cecil's voice. "I'm sorry. Perhaps snakeroot in Night Vale is very similar to another sort of plant in the world."

"Per-haps," Cecil replies in a clipped tone.

Carlos smiles at him. "Would you help me run some tests?"

Brightening, Cecil hops closer to Carlos. His shoes make a gross squelching sound when he lands. The first thing Carlos pulls out is a pair of gloves, which he pulls on after rolling up his coat's sleeves. The second item he pulls from the backpack is a long, curved scimitar.

"Hm," he says. "I didn't bring this."

"The Secret Police like you," Cecil says.

Carlos sets the sword aside. "All right. Could you hold this, please?" He hands Cecil a geiger counter. "And this?" Then a clinometer. "And this." A black notebook. "And this." Goniometer. "And this." Rock hammer. "And this." Rope. "And this." Specimen container. "And this." Wire cutters.

"C-Carlos." Cecil stumbles under the weight of his burdens. After a moment of trying to balance them, he gives up and relaxes his glamor, willing the four tentacles at his back into being. He doesn't morph all the way—he so hates sewing—but the slim, violet-and-white appendages that snake out from under his shirt and around his front are enough to share the load. "You really need all of this?"

"I want to test this plant. We'll take samples, do some field tests, and then head back to the lab. Maybe I can get to the bottom of this so-called Traveling Cienega."

"It's snakeroot," Cecil says stubbornly. "And what's the big mystery? I explained how the cienega worked."

"I know, but I'm a curious sort. It comes with being a scientist." Carlos reaches out to the snakeroot with a gloved hand.

The snakeroot roars—a vicious, otherworldly sound. To their collective shock, the plant begins to vibrate, stirring to life. The petals spin, fanning out wide, and the bulbous center opens into a dripping maw. The leaves lash out, smacking Carlos away.

"Carlos!" Cecil cries, tools falling to the mud as his tentacles wink out of existence.

The snakeroot pulls itself from the ground, powerful roots settling into the mud. It draws itself to its full height with a haunting hiss. It's ten feet tall and nearly a foot wide. Its teeth scrape together as it contemplates them with eyes Cecil cannot see.

"Oh my God," Carlos manages. He's sitting on the ground in front of the creature. "What—?"

The snakeroot roars again, aiming the sound toward the sky. Then it moves, coming closer like a predator with cornered prey. Cecil runs through his options—stand there and shriek, call 912, or fight back—and has just decided on mounting an offensive when Carlos moves.

Carlos grabs the scimitar and leaps to his feet. Two powerful swings later, the snakeroot is missing two leaves. It shrieks, furious, and uses one of its roots to kick Carlos backwards into Cecil. The fall into the mud, Carlos dazed from the force of the blow, and Cecil shakes him in earnest.

"Carlos! _Carlos!_ " Cecil eyes the approaching plant fearfully, pressing his lips to Carlos's hair. "I'm sorry, you were right: that isn't snakeroot. It's _demonic snakeroot._ "

"Night Vale," Carlos croaks. "Can't let it get to Night Vale."

"We won't," Cecil promises. He scrambles to his feet, putting himself between Carlos and the Demon Snakeroot. The plant's thorns begin to pulse. Cecil decides he doesn't want to see what happens next.

He morphs, full-grown tentacles pushing out of his back. It leaves his sweater-vest in tatters but brings the Snakeroot up short. This gives Cecil a chance to swing one meaty extra limb, whipping the thick stem with incredible force. Cecil grits his teeth when the thorns pierce his flesh, but it knocks the Snakeroot off balance and sends it topping to the ground. Cecil goes in for the kill with only a faint idea of how he's going to do that.

That's when the Snakeroot strikes back. The pulsing thorns fire like porcupine quills. Cecil shields himself with two tentacles, yelping when the thorns sink in deep. Then the Snakeroot is on him, knocking him onto his back. Those hungry jaws start snapping at his face. Cecil barely manages to keep it at bay with his other two tentacles. The injured ones are lying useless on the ground. Cecil is clenching his teeth so hard that they hurt. He manages not to cry out when a drop of saliva lands on an exposed strip of his flesh. It _burns._

Then Carlos is there. Cecil can't see him over the gigantic toothy maw in his face, but he can hear Carlos grunting as he hacks and slashes. The Snakeroot is loath to abandon capture prey, but Carlos is evidently annoying enough that it moves away. The moment it lifts its weight from Cecil, he strikes back. Before the Snakeroot gets too far, his two good tentacles wrap around the bulbous sack. With a snarl, Cecil squeezes as hard as he can, ignoring the remaining thorns digging into him. He pulls the flower's head clean off the stem.

The Snakeroot collapses into a thorny heap, oozing green viscous fluid into the mud. The flower head snaps its jaws a few times before quieting, leaving its maw gaping. Carlos sags with relief. He's covered in dirt, leaning on the scimitar. Cecil picks away the remains of his tattered clothing. The adrenaline begins to fade, leaving him bereft and cold. He begins to shiver in the mud, tentacles throbbing with agony.

"Are you okay?" Carlos asks, ambling over to him. "Are there any more of those things?"

Cecil tries to pull out a thorn. He abandons that course of action immediately, hissing through clenched teeth. "I don't know. Why did they attack us? I paid my phone bill!"

Carlos hefts the scimitar. "I'm going to look around."

"No!" Cecil squeaks, grabbing at the other's pant leg. "Please don't do that."

"Cecil. Someone has to make sure such horrors don't reach the town." Carlos reaches down to touch his lips, a gesture of affection. "Will your tentacles heal?"

"Eventually," Cecil says against Carlos's fingers. He grabs the hand with his own. "They'll rest on the other side for a while. I won't be able to bring them out."

"That's all right," Carlos says warmly. "We'll work around it." He stands up straight again. "Now, how large is this cienega?"

"Carlooos," Cecil whines. "You're so brave—but please, please let's call the Secret Police instead."

"If they were around, we would have seen some kind of sign by n—"

"Good evening, gentlemen."

Carlos yelps, dropping his sword. Cecil gasps, but it's one of relief. Out from the tall grass steps one of Night Vale's finest, hat pulled down low to cover her eyes. "Hello, officer. Are we glad to see you!"

Carlos doesn't seem to be; he aims narrow eyes at the newcomer, mouth pursed into a thin line. "Have you been there this whole time?"

The officer makes a helpless gesture with her hands. "I have megalophobia. But you handled that perfectly. Excellent work, Mr. Scientist." She glances over at the corpse lying in the mud. "We'll take it from here. Now that it's in pieces."

"Not before I take a sample," Carlos grumbles, grabbing his sword.

"Do we need to make statements?" Cecil asks jovially over the sound of Carlos hacking in anger.

The officer shakes her head, jaunty ponytail whipping about. "No need. I have it all recorded and have radioed for backup. We'll run a full search around the Sand Wastes. Once we're through, anything dangerous will either be eradicated or posses the proper permits." She offers Cecil a hand up. "You two can continue your date."

"So kind!" Cecil beams. His tentacles are heavy soreness now, so he wills them into hibernation. Their absence leaves his back chilled.

But soon Carlos appears, covering Cecil's bare shoulders with his lab coat. Cecil burrows into it eagerly, watching Carlos shoulder his full backpack once again. "Can we go now?"

"Sure," the officer says. "So long as your car hasn't wandered off. They do that," she adds to Carlos's look.

***

Fortunately, Carlos's Hybrid is right where they left it, sporting a citation under the wiper. It begins with _Friendly Reminder!_ and ends with _This is your last chance; do not displease us._ Only Carlos has gone so long without being fined for his outsider plates.

Carlos reads the note, sighs, and stuffs it in his pocket. "Well, this has been … interesting."

" _Scientifically_ interesting?" Cecil asks, leaning closer.

"No. Just interesting."

Cecil pouts. "The walk was your idea," he mutters. "Argh, I should have thought to take notes on my phone. I hope I don't forget any of this for my report."

Carlos gapes at him. "You're amazing, you know that?" He rubs his strong hands up and down Cecil's back.

" _Scientifically_ amazing?" Cecil presses, leaning closer again.

"All kinds," Carlos laughs. "All kinds."

They kiss there for long minutes, Cecil pushing Carlos into the side of the car. The night has grown colder, but between the two of them there is only warmth. Cecil pulls back just enough to catch Carlos's gaze. "You know, you're already parked …"

Carlos quirks an eyebrow at him, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. Cecil tries to keep a straight face but fails, breaking into a grin. And then Carlos laughs, sets his glasses on top of the car, and rolls Cecil onto the hood.

~End.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be a short, silly thing but it grew in size. Thanks for reading!


End file.
